grandma memories

Sprinkled everywhere are these small pieces of nature that bring you straight back to childhood.

I saw these flowers and they spoke grandma to me in a most quiet way.

A huge (I now wonder how large it actually was) patch of flowers grew next to her house.

Our house was in the same yard as hers for all of my childhood.

I looked at these flowers and instead saw

grandma sitting on her front porch steps watching grands play or travelers come and go

an elderly woman in one of the same 3 dresses sitting on the wooden swing out in the yard

her toys for the kids that included the metal tops of juice cans 

(we were happy with those little extras that filled our worlds)

the opening of the closet door under the stairs that held her meager wardrobe 

and the scent that came out of that small space each time the door opened

the same kitchen curtains that never changed my entire life

I saw and felt so very many things when I spied these flowers.

It wasn't until I went to write this post that I remembered.

She didn't have these flowers growing next to her house.

What grew there was Black Eyed Susans.

And now I'm not so sure of even that.

Why is it that our memory is capable of conjuring up so many things and then questions others as if in a complete state of confusion.

Does it really matter if the memories that come flooding back with this small piece of nature

are warm and loving ones?